Until Next Time
by Bitchii-Usa
Summary: A one shot tribute, and way to let out my feels, to the talented and beautiful Hiromi Tsuru, the Japanese voice actress of Bulma. May she rest in peace.


_**Until Next Time**_

 **oooOOOooo**

The sun this morning isn't very bright.

In fact, it barely illuminates the spacious kitchen of Capsule Corps, even though it's basically decorated with windows. Grey light fills the room like a thundercloud, yet it is the only source of light in the otherwise bright area.

Bra thinks it's perfectly fitting.

She sits at the kitchen table with Trunks and Vegeta, looming over her barely touched bowl of rice. No one has bothered to speak; no one really knows what to say. The rattling of silverware against the glass of their bowls has replaced any sort of conversation, and it's beginning to drive her completely insane. She glances up from her meal, taking quick and sharp glances at her father and brother. Both of them are extremely concentrated with picking their rice up with chopsticks, a lot more careful and slower than they normally are with eating. She even notices the tension that threatens to burst Vegeta's forehead open. Her own stomach clenches as she watches him, and she instead looks back down to her bowl.

"Father, can you pass the soy sauce?" Trunks has finally broken the silence, and Bra momentarily betrays her rice to take a peek at him. He hasn't bothered to look across the table, but his hand is stretched out towards Vegeta with anticipation. Vegeta doesn't nod, doesn't reply, but hands the bottle over anyways, missing no strides in stuffing his mouth. Trunks takes it greedily and sops it over his bowl, probably making a salty soup that makes Bra's face squeeze with disgust. She's waiting for the stern scolding of her mother to tell him that he's overdone it, tell him that he needs to add more rice to even out all the soy sauce.

It never comes.

"Trunks." Vegeta has momentarily stopped eating and is staring at his son sternly, his voice sounding much more overworked than Bra remembers. She realizes then that she _hasn't_ really heard him speak in days. She realizes how much she misses it.

Trunks meets his gaze and sighs, knowing what Vegeta is trying to say. He scoops more rice from the pot into his bowl, his face turned downwards. Bra looks down to her own bowl again. She hates rice. It's bland and tasteless and she's never fully satisfied from it. She's gotten spoiled all of her life with lavish breakfasts with different varieties of food, the perks of having the ravenous appetite of a Saiyan. But she knows that although eating is mandatory, no one is really hungry. She knows that's why her father made it in the first place, other than it being the only thing he really knows how to cook. Besides, they'll have to get used to this now, even if the sight of the opaque white grains makes her full of disgust.

"Bra, are you going to return to your classes soon?" She looks up to find Trunks peeking in her direction, asking her this in between bites of his food.

"No," she says quietly, letting the words pass through her lips with rebellion.

"Aren't you close to finishing your doctorate? I don't think it's wise to not go. She would think the same."

"I don't care." Bra grits her teeth, her tone dripping with the accusation of betrayal. Trunks should understand. After all, he's said that he's taking a vacation from Capsule Corps for a few weeks. Vegeta didn't fight with him on it, only demanding that they spar in his free time. "I don't want to think about that right now."

Trunks face softens and his eyes are trying to reason with her. He takes a deep breath. "Bra—"

"You're going." Vegeta looks at her with that familiar hardened stare, and Bra immediately freezes at the intensity. "You will not be foolish and throw away your hard work. You will not disrespect your mother's wishes for you to finish your doctorate."

"I said I don't care!" She stands and slams her hands against the table, causing the entire thing to rattle. Normally Bra would have ceased any backtalk with her father, no matter how old she's gotten, but she can't believe the audacity of him. She knows he can be cold and frigid in his feelings, but does he have to be such a dick _now_? "I don't want to _deal_ with that right now! I…I _can't_ deal…." Her words trail off as a lump forms in the back of her throat, robbing her of the remainder of her sentence. Her body suddenly feels heavy, as if standing is too much of a chore. She plops down in her chain as if she is filled with cement. Her breathing quickens and she feels like her chest is filling with water. Small, desperate breaths escape her lips as she tries to recompose herself, but she fails.

"Bra…" Trunks is staring at her with concern, and she sees him swallow deeply as his eyes mist, but Bra is unable to control herself. She takes a short, sharp breath before giving in to the rolls of sobs that penetrate her body. Fluffy tears stream down her face as she whimpers, running her fingers through her brain. It hurts, it hurts like hell. The sadness that latches on to her feels like a sickness, like a disease that gnaws at her bones. She can't stop the tears, can't stop the grief that fills her belly.

She wants her back. She wants her mother back so badly.

Trunks wipes his cheeks as hot tears spill down his face, but more follow the smeared streaks and finally he gives in to them, silently crying with her. He reaches across and grabs her hand, squeezing it to let her knows he understands. Understands that she's hurting because he's hurting too.

She searches desperately for her father's face. She sees his jaw is clenched and he's biting down on his teeth hard. He's stiff, as if he's winning the battle of being controlled by his emotions. Bra sniffles as her tears soak the wood of the table, her eyes pleading, begging, demanding. "Papa…." She sounds like a little girl again, she knows this, and she sees Vegeta's face drop for one moment before he picks it up again. " _Please_. Please use them and bring her back."

"Bra-" Trunks tries to intervene, letting her know that what she asks is impossible.

"Please, Papa!" Her words choke underneath her heavy sob, and she cries to him like she's a toddler asking to be picked up. Anything to make this pain go away. Anything. "You told me about the super dragon balls! They can bring her back, Papa! Even if she was sick, she can come back!"

"No." Vegeta croaks his reply out, his eyes resembling hardened stone. He clears his throat as Bra sobs harder, unable to believe that he _won't_.

"But why?" She whispers, feeling defeated. The sentiment threatens to swallow her whole and she tries to reign it in, but she's fighting a losing battle.

Vegeta stares at her long and hard, and for a second she wonders if he'll even answer. Even Trunks has turned to look at him, waiting for a resolution. An explanation. Finally Vegeta grunts, and for the first time Bra can see how broken her father _actually_ feels. "I miss her too," he says in a whisper, so low that she can barely hear it. He clears his throat and speaks up, his face becoming stoic again. "But it is what she wanted. She _chose_ to not be brought back, for whatever reasons she had. No matter what I had to say in the matter, she said she had lived a long enough life and didn't want to put us through this again someday. It's fucking stupid-" he chokes out a sound and looks away from them, biting down on his lower lip before snarling. The cold, smooth tone of his words become more choppy, more layered. "A Saiyan elite, a Saiyan warrior _forced_ to watch his wife become weaker than even a human in such a short time. Watch her…watch her…." Vegeta's eyes soften, and Bra can see his age finally. Her father is old now, even if he still looks young. She can finish the rest of his sentence: _watch her die like that_.

But he doesn't finish. Instead he swallows and looks back to her, his expression caught between indifferent and grieving.

"But…but I want her back, Papa." Bra remembers thinking her father was invincible, and she pleads with him with that same sort of resolve. That he can do anything, that he can do _this._

"We all do, Bra." Trunks is successfully wiping his tears now, attempting to flash her some sort of smile. "But Mom is no longer hurting, you know that right? Remember how sick she got? How she couldn't get out of bed anymore? She doesn't have that pain. Now she's in Otherworld with Grandma and Grandpa, probably inventing something or helping them with all of their animals." His mild joke makes her blow out a laugh and he chuckles too, squeezing her hand. "We'll see her again. When we go to Otherworld we will. But in the meantime we should do what she'd want us to do. And she'd want you to finish your doctorate."

Bra stares at him in silence, the last of her tears streaming down her face. Trunks is right, she knows he is, but she just wants to look across the table and see her mother with her infectious laugh, or her ill-tempered jokes to her father. She wants her to brush her hair again, or tuck her in, or help her pick out an outfit for a date. She would even take her mother yelling at her, _anything_ to make her concrete. Present.

But Bra knows that it's impossible. Knows that her father's mind is made up. He's probably asked Whis to hide them all over the universes again, like how they were in the stories Vegeta's told her. She nods towards her brother, swallowing thickly.

 _Oh, Mom…_

She returns to her bowl of rice, nibbling around with the chopsticks. Vegeta and Trunks have done the same and soon silence absorbs them once more.

 _I miss you so much_.

She'll have to get used to these sorts of breakfasts. She'll have to get used to this sort of dynamic. It's just her, her father and her brother now. They're all she has left. They're all she has left of _her._

 _But until next time, just know that we love you more than you'll ever know_.

But for now, Bra just hurts.

oooOOOooo

 _Completely inspired by ladyvegeets expressing her feelings through her one shot, and I decided to get mine out the same. Just like all of us, I'm still so saddened by this (and in shock!). Rest in peace to Hiromi Tsuru, and thank you for all you've brought to us over the years. She probably never realized how many lives she touched through her talented work, but her legacy will live on through us. I encourage anyone who wants to do a tribute piece (art of fiction) to do so!_


End file.
